


kozume kenma's guide to getting free drinks from supernatural persons (results may vary)

by skittidyne



Series: various guides to supernatural phenomena (results may vary) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Biting, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Smut, Light BDSM, M/M, Met at a Bar, Multiple Orgasms, Piercings, Scent Kink, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9077182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: “You know what I am?” Kuroo asks. He’s not looking up at Kenma, instead concentrating too much on pushing his shirt up over his chest. …Shit, Kenma owes Shouyou a thousand yen.  (( or: shouyou and kenma make a lot of bets, kenma meets a ridiculously handsome stranger, and a ridiculously handsome stranger treats kenma to a night he couldn't forget even if he wanted to ))





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curiouslylazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslylazy/gifts).



> (( happy late birthday purr!! there's 0% purring in here but there's an awful lot of growling and lewd words. ))

Kenma makes enough off their bets to pretty much get free drinks whenever he goes to the bar. Of course, there’s no shortage of people wanting to buy him drinks, either. With this combination, it means he can get properly wasted whenever he has the emotional fortitude to stand a couple hours at the loud bar, and that’s not a privilege he takes lightly. (Even if it’s a pain to walk home afterward, should he go alone, but he won’t waste money on a cab when he lives six blocks away.)

He honestly doesn’t know why Shouyou keeps betting with him. Most of the other bartenders, after getting trounced by him, stop after one or two attempts. Even Kentarou gave up after three tries to stump him, and Kenma had inadvertently caught him at a stubborn time.

But Shouyou doesn’t give up.

“What about that one?” Shouyou leans far over the bar—Kenma is always a little surprised at how easily he moves, despite his relative height to the bartop—and whispers. Except his whisper is close to a shout, both to be able to audible over the deep pounding of the bass and because that’s how he was. Kenma has known him long enough to find it endearing.

Kenma has only had three sips of a gin and tonic over the course of his half hour here thus far, so this is almost too easy. But Kozume Kenma does not know pity, and he’s going to earn that money.

He studies the woman Shouyou points to: she’s seated at the end of the bar, four spaces between them. She has long legs, heels that could certainly kill a man, long silvery hair, and an outfit that is surprisingly demure for her stature and the salaciously pouty way she tongues at her straw. Kenma notes the subtle way she changes her posture when she realizes she’s being observed, but she neither puts on a show for them, nor closes off entirely. She just avoids looking in their direction.

Teeth are always an easy check, but Kenma doesn’t move to talk to her. With the dimness of this half of the bar and the flash of colored lights from the half-assed dance floor on the other side, he can’t tell her skin tone, whether she’s pale enough to be undead or not. And there’s _always_ a chance of vampires.

Kenma isn’t terribly fond of vampires, himself. They’re dangerous strangers to go home with. It seems too much like tempting fate.

She’s a beautiful woman, one Kenma has never seen in the bar before. There’s only one truly supernatural-friendly bar in the city, so there are many regulars, but also a revolving door of experimenters, curious folk, and others seeking refuge. Kenma knows this is her first time here, and surmises that a friend dragged her here.

“She’s human,” Kenma informs Shouyou, who lets out a squawk as if he’d been fatally injured.

“What?! How did you know? I thought I _had_ you!”

She doesn’t want to attract attention, but she doesn’t carry herself with the tentative hesitation that many first-timers possess. It’s difficult to be obvious about identities, even lately.

This is difficult to convey to Shouyou, however, so instead Kenma just takes his first full gulp of his drink and says, “Lucky guess.”

“I really thought I had you this time,” Shouyou repeats, slipping off of the bartop. He buzzes with disappointed energy. “There’s not many of you guys here, even on the busy nights.”

“Most humans go to start grinding on the nearest person they see,” Kenma allows. (And even then, they’re in the far minority.)

“I want one more tonight.” Shouyou slides over Kenma’s next drink, despite the fact that he’s not even halfway done with his current one. Looks like it will be one of those nights, then. He doesn’t have class until two tomorrow, at least, and he thinks he doesn’t mind all the people here for awhile longer.

“You can choose whenever,” Kenma mutters as he slides his phone out of his pocket. He knows Shouyou will hear him. The big, pointed ears aren’t just for show.

He has no new messages.

Of course not.

He doesn’t even have any emails, which is more annoying rather than pathetic, because he’d been hoping one of his professors would get back to him about that meeting he’d requested. It had taken three pep talks, two days, and one of Shouyou’s infamous Nettlebeer Nectars before Kenma had gotten the courage to email the man. (Kenma has never been able to figure out any of Shouyou’s recipes for his drinks. All he knows for certain is that a Nettlebeer Nectar does not contain nettles, beer, nectar, and tastes a bit like nail polish. But Shouyou also always puts an extra cherry in Kenma’s, and for some reason, Kenma always drinks them.)

It’s a lot more effort than Kenma usually put forth. He wants it to pay off.

He also kind of wants people to text him once in awhile, but that would also involve _knowing_ people. Kenma’s only friends are Shouyou, who he only sees at the bar, and Tora, who is studying abroad this year.

At least Shouyou hasn’t said anything about the hike in people he’s gone home with in the past month.

And now, as Kenma drags himself back into awareness, Shouyou is giving him That Look. The one that’s too sympathetic, full of pity and poorly-repressed urges to drag Kenma into Being More Social. Unfortunately for the both of them, that involves university parties and even _more_ alcohol. Neither win in that situation.

Kenma sighs, because he knows Shouyou _always_ means well, and downs the rest of his first drink. The second, a bottle of something clear and fruity, has already created a ring from condensation, but it’s still ice cold when Kenma brings it to his lips.

“How’s the search for someone to bring home going?” Shouyou asks, with all of his usual tact. His ‘usual tact’ consists of: gender-neutral phrasing and the pointed observation that Kenma _always_ goes home to someone else’s place.

He just doesn’t like strangers in his space. “I don’t really need a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or anyone,” Kenma replies. He keeps the bottle to his mouth almost as a shield. Not that it ever stops Shouyou. “Sometimes, I just like sex.”

“I _knowwww_ ,” Shouyou whines and slumps against the bartop, “but you always get that sad look when you look at your phone!”

“Text me more than cat pictures sometime, then.”

“You _like_ cat pictures!”

“…I do.”

“And you like people to cuddle with,” Shouyou triumphantly concludes, like he’d just won an hours-long debate. Kenma arches an eyebrow. “C’mon, I know you miss Yamamoto! And whenever you get plastered you end up crawling all over me when I drag you home. You even did it to Kyoutani that one time!”

“I told you never to speak of that.” So had Kentarou.

“I’m going to set you up with someone,” he announces.

Kenma doesn’t mask his horror. Which, really, isn’t that expressive, but Shouyou can read him well enough. Kenma and blind date _do not_ go together. Even if he’s alright with nonhumans, he likes to know what he’s getting into. Well, he likes that with _anyone_ , but super strength, while incredibly nice in a partner, is really something that should be warned for.

“I promise no half-titans this time,” Shouyou hastily adds.

Kenma decides that this is a good time to _definitely_ find someone else to talk to. He’s not drunk enough for this. He’s _never_ drunk enough for Shouyou’s matchmaking. It’s scientifically impossible to be that drunk.

Kenma takes his bottle, spares Shouyou one last look that tells him to Definitely Do Not Try To Get Me A Blind Date, and slinks off in the direction of the booths and tables in the back.

The woman at the end of the bar has apparently found who she’s looking for, because she’s in the corner one, with a blonde woman on her lap. That one, Kenma recognizes as a regular, and he doesn’t look too much at the hiked-up skirts or wandering hands as he passes them.

At least someone’s getting laid tonight.

Not that it’s hard for him to.

Kenma doesn’t find any empty spots he can sneak into without drawing attention, which frustrates him. He won’t return to the bar, as empty as it is right now, but the dance floor also doesn’t appeal to him. He doesn’t mind the prospect of going home with someone tonight—there’s enough restlessness within him from waiting on that email that he could probably turn it into the desire to do _something_ —but he’s not driven enough to try to seek someone out. He doesn’t even really want to make himself seem available to anyone else on the prowl.

He has three options: go home alone, try to clear his head in the bathroom, or drink on the back patio. None seem fun.

Kenma slips outside, chilly air numbing his exposed fingers and nose faster than the bottle in his hand could, and leans against the wall by the exit. There are only a handful of people out here, and he uncomfortably discovers that two of them have gotten even farther than the women inside, based on the moaning direction he refuses to look in. The air has the distinct, displeasing aroma of stale cigarettes and weed, and has the accompanying soundtrack of muffled thumping and not-so-muffled lewdness.

Back inside he goes.

Maybe Shouyou had been right. Normally, he’s not so antsy. Normally, he gets a pleasant buzz, plays a few more rounds of Guess The Patron, and eventually gets approached by some person he’ll generally go home with. The companionship is nice. The orgasm is generally nicer.

He probably wants that tonight.

But it doesn’t mean he wants to deal with a mass of drunken supernatural beings attempting the _Macarena_ inside.

Kenma glares in the direction of the music booth as he edges around the makeshift dance floor, chugging his drink and staunchly ignoring the song. The bar is busier now, with other patrons ducking out of the dancing until it picks back up into senseless grinding, and Shouyou can only flash him an apologetic smile when Kenma realizes there aren’t any stools open.

He awkwardly wedges himself between a sloshed woman offering to show anyone her nipple piercings and a man who throws back shots like he’s freshly legal.

Maybe a bad choice.

Kenma chugs down the rest of his fruity drink just to have an excuse to lean in for Shouyou’s attention.

Shouyou is hardly walking anymore, flitting from side to side behind the bar, but he manages to squeeze past a frazzled Hisashi to serve Kenma. Instead of asking what he wants to drink, he just points down the bar, and excitedly demands, “What about him?”

Kenma frowns, because that means moving. He doesn’t like this space, but at least he’d claimed it without seeming like he’s seeking someone out.

“I want an apple cider,” he tells him before pushing away and seeking out the man Shouyou pointed out.

Kenma presses in awkwardly close, which is a _great_ first impression, he’s sure. He’s too close to avoid some sort of conversation, so he ignores the hammering of his heart and the way the man cocks his head at his entrance.

He doesn’t have the right pallor to be undead, Kenma notes at once. He’s large, lanky but well-built enough to maintain a firm presence, and Kenma doesn’t see any tails or wings before he notices the man’s face for the first proper time.

His train of thought crashes and burns.

The man ought to be _illegal_. His lashes are long, thick, yet delicate, but there’s nothing but kindness in his amber eyes as he smiles down at Kenma. His hair is an artfully tousled mess, black as pitch and falling halfway into his face, but it compliments his dark complexion well, and the contrast makes his eyes pop all the more. Kenma stares into a golden gaze every time he passes a mirror, but _damn_.

But oh god, his _smile_. It’s crooked, goddamn it, and the crumbling analytical part of his brain points out that his teeth are sharp, particularly his canines. They’re very white, even in the dim lighting of the bar.

Kenma knows he has found a channel for his restlessness as soon as he realizes he’s wondering how hard the man would be willing to bite him.

He also realizes he’s been gaping wordlessly this entire time.

“Hi?” the man says, and the way he says it, Kenma knows he’s repeated this more than once already.

He could cut his losses, salvage his dignity, and leave early. But _god_ if there isn’t an allure to this gorgeous man. He’s a ridiculous number of Kenma’s aesthetics—he’s even wearing a fucking flannel, rolled up to the elbows, open over a tight t-shirt.

“Here’s your drinks!”

Shouyou to the rescue. Kenma automatically reaches out to grab his new bottle. The man raises an eyebrow at the one pushed in his direction, too.

“They’re on him,” Shouyou says with a wink and a nod toward Kenma.

“Y-Yes,” Kenma croaks out.

“Oh, well, thanks,” the man easily replies and takes it without glancing at the label. “Do you often buy drinks for strangers you stare at?”

Kenma wants to point out how he’s never paid for a drink in his life. He doesn’t think this man has, either. “It’s a conversation starter.”

“My favorite kinds of conversations are the kinds that go both ways,” the man teases, gently. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, this time. There’s something as soft as his voice about it, and Kenma comes a little closer before he realizes it. “You have beautiful eyes, you know. I’m kind of into how they aren’t leaving me.”

“I was about to say the same for you, except for the latter,” Kenma replies, and only then glances away.

“Oh, come on! You can stare all you want. I know I’m a gift.”

“Are you usually this cocky?”

“When I get as much attention as you’d been giving me, yes.” The man leans forward, seeking out his eyes, and Kenma blinks at him when he smiles again. Unfair. “Don’t get shy now! You were doing so well.”

“At what?”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

Kenma huffs and rolls his eyes. The man laughs, as if delighted by it.

“Alright, I’ll stop the smooth talk now. Trust me, I’m not good at it.”

He leans back out of Kenma’s personal space, but Kenma finds himself pressing closer, anyway. He’s nearly up against the man’s side, and this close, he feels the heat radiating from him. He’s too distracted to think much of trying to figure out what he is, and distantly, he wonders if this man could cost him his winning streak.

Right as that thought drives Kenma to focus again, the man asks, “Why aren’t you out there dancing?”

“I don’t do group dances.”

“Me neither. I never really learned how to do ‘em, although at least with the _Cha Cha Slide_ it tells you what to do, y’know? Do you like to dance in general?”

Kenma shrugs. “It’s a means to an end.”

“What’s the end?” the man asks, amber gaze glittering.

“To get someone’s attention.”

“I’m mad I already have yours, then. Can I have a do-over?”

“No,” Kenma curtly replies. The man frowns, though not seriously but enough to make Kenma backpedal. “There are other routes to the same end.”

The man turns, then. He nearly knocks Kenma’s hip with his knee, but after a bit of shuffling, he’s seated sideways on the stool, and Kenma stands between his open legs, facing him. Both of their drinks have been forgotten. The gorgeous man’s lips part in another uneven smile, and he leans his cheek against his hand at the same time he reaches with his other for Kenma.

Kenma doesn’t shy, but he finds himself a little disappointed that the man only twirls a bit of his hair around his finger. “Your hair is pretty, too,” he remarks, and Kenma is about to roll his eyes again when he leans _very_ close and adds in a lower voice, “It’s a wonderful length for pulling, too. Is that why you keep it so long?”

Absolutely not, but the man can say whatever the fuck he wants in _that_ tone. Kenma shivers, and swallows before answering. “Are you saying you like that?”

“I like any pretty humans who aren’t afraid of me.”

“My name is Kenma,” he says, nearly a whisper. He’s crowding into the man’s space now, and he’s not sure when, but one of his hands has found itself on the man’s thigh. It’s as unfair as his face.

“Pretty,” the man breathes. Kenma feels the warmth from his words on his own lips, parted and waiting. “You can call me Kuroo. So you know what to scream later.”

It’s a lame line, but with the atmosphere as charged as it is between them right now, Kenma can’t find it in him to mind terribly much. He hardly registers getting a name at all. “Let’s see if you can make good on that,” Kenma tells him. He doesn’t sure who really closes the gap, but they both moved, and now they’re properly kissing.

Like the little details in his demeanor, Kuroo’s lips are softer than Kenma expects. He’s hot, though, even before his tongue pushes at Kenma’s mouth, and Kenma melts into his touch as soon as his fingers card through his hair and uses a firm grip to angle Kenma’s head how he likes. Kenma goes along with his direction willingly, tilting, opening his mouth, eagerly adjusting to how Kuroo takes the lead.

Kenma kneads at Kuroo’s thigh, enjoying the firm muscle he finds, and skates his other hand up over Kuroo’s hip and side to wind its way around the back of his neck. Kuroo pulls them flush, as close as they can possibly press in their position, and licks into Kenma’s mouth like he’s claiming him. He tastes like the same kind of hard cider Kenma had ordered.

With a twist of his hand, _Kenma_ is the one seizing a fistful of Kuroo’s thick, dark hair, and they pull apart just long enough for Kuroo to gasp and let his head be pulled back by the movement. Kenma rocks up onto the balls of his feet and takes control of the kiss, long enough to run his tongue over Kuroo’s sharp teeth, mapping out the points and the length as Kuroo drops his hands to wrap both arms around Kenma’s waist.

Kuroo nips at him until they pull apart, both panting. Without warning, he slides off the stool, making Kenma back into the person behind him on the other seat. He mumbles an apology for the both of them as he stands, and _fuck_ if he’s not taller than Kenma had anticipated. Kenma swallows. “Do you want to…?” Kuroo asks, leaning down in order to whisper in Kenma’s ear.

Kenma nods so much he feels a little like Shouyou.

(Shouyou shoots him a thumbs-up as they leave the bar.)

Kuroo wraps an arm snugly around Kenma’s waist, leading him past the throngs of dancing people, toward the back patio. They’re hardly outside before Kuroo pushes him up against the brick wall and attacks again, but this time, Kenma’s head is pulled back to bare his neck. Kenma shivers at the press of teeth against the sensitive skin there, and Kuroo certainly notices, based on the way he scrapes his sharp teeth down his throat a moment later.

Kenma’s not embarrassed to be the first one to moan.

The few people that had been out here earlier seem to have left, at least for the time being, but Kenma can hardly find it in himself to care either way. Kuroo has bracketed him against the wall with his arms, one thick thigh wedged between Kenma’s legs. He doesn’t find it embarrassing to grind against the deliciously firm muscle when Kuroo sucks on his pulse.

“You smell amazing,” Kuroo rumbles against him, nosing beneath Kenma’s chin.

“You’re good at this.” He doesn’t exactly mean it accusingly, but Kuroo nips at him again in retaliation anyway.

“Maybe you’re easy to please.”

Kenma is usually told the opposite. “Maybe you should find out somewhere a little more private?” he hoarsely suggests as Kuroo sucks another mark into the side of his neck. His neck is sensitive, but Kuroo’s good at paying attention to which spots he likes.

“Exhibitionism not a kink?” Kuroo pulls back far enough to smirk at him, and Kenma glares down at him, both for stopping and for the stupid leer.

“I’m impatient,” Kenma says flatly.

“I can see that. So I take it you want to continue this.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” Kenma says, firm, and winds his arms back tight around Kuroo to pull him down for another searing kiss.

 

—

 

A fact Kenma Does Not Like About Kuroo: he lives on the seventh floor of a building without an elevator.

A fact Kenma Does Like About Kuroo: he enjoys fiercely making out in stairwells and carries Kenma up the last flight when he’d made an offhand almost-joke about it.

Kuroo languidly fucks his tongue into Kenma’s mouth as Kenma quakes in his arms. His legs are wrapped around Kuroo’s waist, and he cannot help the little jerks of his hips; his pants are getting uncomfortable and Kuroo’s stomach seems like as good a place as any to grind against. Especially since, aside from positioning Kenma, he hasn’t really tried anything below the waist yet.

Kind of frustrating at this point.

“Kuroo,” Kenma groans, head tilting back with another pull on his hair, “ _please_. Touch me already.”

Kuroo’s hand shifts beneath his thigh, close to his ass but nothing teasing in the movement. “Almost there. Stop being so damn distracting.”

Wall sex isn’t bad. Kenma has come in a stairwell before. Normal Kenma doesn’t _really_ want to mix those, but aroused Kenma wants attention on his dick, and he’s getting less picky about the exact location it happens in.

Kenma rubs his crotch against Kuroo’s stomach again, pointedly.

Kuroo pulls harder on his hair and Kenma gasps. Thankfully, the door onto the floor is a push one, because Kenma refuses to lose contact with this man long enough to open a door. Which, _not_ thankfully, becomes an issue as soon as they make it to the apartment door Kuroo claims is his.

He pushes Kenma up against the door, uses that to brace his weight so he can move his arms, then hikes Kenma up so he’s over his shoulder, all in a single smooth movement. The blonde stares, for a long beat, at the material of Kuroo’s jacket. He hears the jingling of keys.

He wants Kuroo to manhandle him _always_. Fuck. He doesn’t think there’s much blood left in his brain with how much rushes south.

Kenma gives an experimental kick to the door, right before it clicks open, and Kuroo loops his arm around the backs of his knees to keep him from wiggling. “You’re making me feel like a caveman or something, bringing home a conquest,” Kuroo says with a half-strained laugh.

Kenma has _exactly_ enough coherency left to be embarrassed at how much the carrying and semi-casual feats of strength are getting to him, so he says nothing.

“Oh, _now_ you’re quiet again?”

“Isn’t this the point in time when you declare how you’ll _make_ me vocal again?” Kenma shoots back. “I recall some vague promises about screaming.”

“I don’t recall any _promises_ ,” Kuroo points out. He doesn’t turn on any lights, but drops his keys in a bowl as he toes off his shoes, and tries fiddling with Kenma’s laces halfheartedly before giving up. He takes three long strides across what Kenma assumes is a living room, and suddenly, he’s dropped on something leather and unbelievably soft. He’s folded almost in half with how far he sinks into the ridiculous couch.

“What the hell kinda couch is this,” Kenma mutters as he tries, very awkwardly and unsexily, to right himself.

Kuroo laughs again, not unkindly, and crawls on top of Kenma, pushing him back into the cushions. He helps him only so far as to get him more or less horizontal. He gives Kenma a peck on the lips, quick and flirty, and another matching one on a mark he’d made on his neck. “You’re cool with this, right?” Kuroo asks as he makes his way down to Kenma’s shirt collar.

“I don’t think I’d go home with someone without being cool with them, yes,” Kenma deadpans.

“You know what I am?” Kuroo asks. He’s not looking up at Kenma, instead concentrating too much on pushing his shirt up over his chest.

…Shit, Kenma owes Shouyou a thousand yen.

He’d been too distracted to come up with many concrete guesses. Certainly none he’d be willing to voice.

Kuroo glances up at him through his fringe.

Kenma knows he’s going to have to say _something_. “I’ve been with different kinds of people,” he hedges, awkwardly. Sharp teeth, living skin coloration, increased body heat. No outward signs of anything.

Kuroo folds his arms across Kenma’s stomach and rests his cheek on them. “But you’re human.”

“Yes.”

“You got a kink?”

“I don’t actually know what you are,” Kenma admits. “My kinks are entirely unrelated to who I’m fucking.”

This seems to be the right answer, as Kuroo unfolds his arms and slides his big hands up Kenma’s chest. Kenma jerks against him as he tweaks a nipple. “If you want to guess it, that’s fine,” Kuroo coyly informs him.

“I know what I’m getting into,” Kenma pants, shuddering as Kuroo idly circles the hardening nub. But still, guessing would do no good here. He doesn’t want to waste the brainpower trying to figure anything out when, instead, he could have the far more preferable choice of _not_ thinking for awhile. “B-But tell me, if you want.”

“Guess,” Kuroo says.

Kenma groans, and not in a fun way.

“If you guess right, I’ll reward you,” Kuroo adds.

“How would you reward me that you wouldn’t already do?” Kenma demands, frowning down at him.

“Hm.” That seems to pull him up short. But, just as quickly as he’d paused, Kuroo brightens again, grin wide and dangerous. “Oh, I know.”

He shimmies down so he’s laying between Kenma’s splayed legs, and without further teasing, he moves to unbuckle Kenma’s belt. Kenma doesn’t trust this for a single second, but he does consider this progress, so he lifts his hips enough to let Kuroo pull his belt free.

And, to his surprise, Kuroo crawls back up until they’re eye-level. “Is this alright?” he asks, reaching for Kenma’s wrists.

Kenma’s heart thuds in his chest, and he nods, then forces out, “Y-Yes.” _Absolutely_. God, he’d gotten lucky on this one.

Kuroo takes his stammer as hesitation, however, and draws back. “I know it could be rushing—”

“If I guess, would you tie my wrists together?” Kenma asks quickly, cutting across Kuroo’s responding hesitation, and Kuroo lights up again.

“You get as long as it takes for you to come,” Kuroo informs him. He slides back down Kenma’s body, leaving the belt up behind Kenma’s head, and unbuttons his jeans before Kenma could agree.

Due to the lack of length on the couch, Kuroo’s knees are bent beneath him, meaning his (very nice) ass is in the air. He doesn’t seem to mind the positioning, but it adds another layer of distraction to this, something Kenma is not sure is accidental. Already, the _sight_ of Kuroo nosing along the tent in Kenma’s boxers almost overwhelms the sensation of it.

Kenma closes his eyes, exhales through his nose, and tries to think.

“You’re not a vampire,” he starts, easy ground, just so Kuroo knows he’ll play along. “Despite your fascination with my neck.”

“ _Your_ fascination with me gnawing on your neck,” Kuroo murmurs. He’s kissing over the fabric covering Kenma, teasing and wet.

“Not fae,” Kenma gasps.

“That’s a big group to discount.”

Shouyou is one of the fae, and Kenma knows them well enough to know that Kuroo isn’t. All that comes out of his mouth is a shuddering sigh, however. Kuroo pulls his boxers down at last, one hand beneath Kenma’s ass to lift him, and only pulls his pants and underwear down enough to get them out of the way.

“So pretty,” Kuroo murmurs, lips ghosting over the tip of Kenma’s cock.

“No incubus would be this flattering,” Kenma bites out. “So not a demon, either.”

“I didn’t realize I was such a mystery.” He sounds pleased, at least, and rewards Kenma with a slow swirl of his tongue over his head. Kenma’s hips jerk. Kuroo hums against him, _absolutely_ pleased. “This is fun. I want to know more about what you think of me.”

“I want you to stop teasing me.”

“You _are_ impatient.”

“ _Kuroo_ , please,” Kenma groans. He risks a peek downward, only to find those amber eyes fixed on his face. Now that he’s watching, Kuroo lowers his mouth over Kenma’s cock, hot and wet and already so good. He pulls up, sucking, just a moment later, and laps lazily around the tip again. A clear signal. _Keep going_.

Kenma tips his head back and groans again.

“You have the stupidest sense of dirty talk.”

“I like your voice,” Kuroo easily replies.

“I _could_ try to dirty talk.”

“Don’t you want to know what kind of monster will be fucking you tonight?”

Kenma peers down at him again, brow furrowed, even when he doesn’t see any kind of maliciousness in Kuroo’s expression. “You’re not a monster.”

“I’m not human,” Kuroo points out. “Not anymore.” His hips sway in the air, just a little, but not in any bid for friction.

Almost like he’s wagging a tail he doesn’t have right now. Not _anymore_ , huh?

“Werewolf,” Kenma says, and no sooner does the word leave his lips than Kuroo takes him back into his mouth. Kenma gasps, then keens, hands flying down to dig into Kuroo’s hair. Kuroo swallows around him, throat tightening on him, and Kenma’s fingers curl against his scalp. “Oh _god_ , Kuroo—!”

Kuroo pulls suction up as he bobs, cheeks hollowed, and he glances up through those thick lashes at Kenma again. His amber gaze _smolders_. He looks impossibly good like this, lips stretched around Kenma, hair falling into his eyes and wrapped around Kenma’s fingers, back arched like a porn star. Kenma should look away. Part of him _wants_ to.

But the overwhelming majority of his remaining brain cells absolutely, definitely, _certainly_ want to get lost in Kuroo’s eyes.

Noises spill, unnoticed, out of his mouth, and twice Kuroo has to pin his legs down against the stupidly squishy couch. The soft surface doesn’t give Kenma much leverage, anyway. Kuroo’s lashes flutter as he takes Kenma deep again, and he hums around him like he’s _oh so pleased_ with this.

When he pulls off with a lewd _pop_ , mouth red and shiny and slick with precome and too much spit, Kuroo rasps, “Ever been with a werewolf before?”

Kenma shakes his head. He doesn’t trust his voice right now. He relaxes his grip on Kuroo’s hair belatedly, but his body tenses again a moment later when Kuroo reaches a hand up to lazily jack Kenma as he leans his cheek against his thigh.

“I honestly won’t mind if you just wanna keep it at this. Or even go home.”

Yeah, because Kenma wants to go home right now, hard and half out of his mind with lust.

“Some people can be kinda put off, and I didn’t really realize you didn’t know, sorry,” Kuroo says. He glances off to the side, like he’s embarrassed.

“Kuroo,” Kenma says, drawing his attention in a snap, “I’m fine if you are. If you just want blowjobs, fine. But I would be _very down_ if you wanted to fuck me right now, after tying my wrists like you promised.”

Kuroo stills like a predator scenting blood. The thought sends a shiver through Kenma.

Kuroo surges up over him, mouths crashing together almost enough to bruise, but Kuroo only draws back momentarily to make sure neither of them got hurt before recapturing Kenma’s mouth. His lips are sticky and taste bitter, but he’s twice as eager as before, and Kenma can’t complain.

Well, he _can_ complain about sinking into the couch like it’s eating him. “Bed?” he pants against Kuroo’s mouth.

“You just want to get carried again.”

Kenma doesn’t disagree.

Kuroo rolls off of him, and when Kenma sits up, they strip off his shirt before Kuroo hauls him up. This time, he picks him up bridal-style, grinning toothily when Kenma puffs out his cheeks in protest. “This is distinctly _un-sexy_.”

“It’s kind of doing it for me.”

Thankfully, the bedroom isn’t far, but Kuroo continues being a pain in the ass by dropping Kenma on the bed, just like the couch before. He doesn’t immediately approach him, either, so Kenma kicks off his pants and underwear by himself.

Legs spread, he raises an eyebrow up at Kuroo. “Joining me?”

“So impatient.” Kuroo shrugs off his flannel before pulling his shirt up over his head. His hair comes out even more tousled than before. “Do you have any idea how good you smell right now?”

“I smell like sex,” Kenma replies, knowing that’s exactly the point. “I’m not sure lube would really improve the general smell, but it seems like a good next step.”

Kuroo chuckles, and grins in that easy, soft way that definitely makes Kenma melt a little. “Nah, I got the strawberry flavored stuff.” He pads around the bed and rummages around in the nightstand. As soon as he’s close enough, Kenma snags one of his belt loops, and tugs him down onto the mattress next to him.

“It seems unbalanced that I’m the only naked one here. You insecure about your werewolf dick?”

“So, _so_ impatient,” Kuroo says with a cluck of his tongue. He twists around far enough to kiss Kenma’s hair, the only part he can reach. “You have no idea how much you’re testing me right now, do you?”

“You wanna take my werewolf virginity?” Kenma asks, impossibly flat.

“You smell so good.” Kuroo turns fully, embracing Kenma, and they both fall onto the bed. “You _taste_ so good. You’re so pretty, and you’re driving me crazy, Kenma. You make me wanna howl at the moon or something.”

“Or something.”

“Yeah, probably. Maybe just fuck you into the mattress like a bitch in heat, but maybe do the howly thing, too.”

Kenma shudders at the low, rough tone of Kuroo’s voice, and Kuroo definitely notices.

Maintaining eye contact, Kuroo leans down until their noses almost brush, and Kenma can feel his breath against his mouth. “You like the wild side, though, don’t you? You like getting marked, and you like getting pushed around. You want me to tie you up, pin you down against the mattress, and make you scream.”

“Yes,” Kenma breathes, hardly audible.

The fierce glint is replaced by a momentary gentleness, though Kenma finds it no less thrilling. “Red, yellow, green safewords, and how are you with overstimulation? Because I really, _really_ wanna make you come twice, at _least_.”

“Yes, and fine.” Usually fine. Kenma has come more than once only once before, and it’d been by himself. It had been fun, but incredibly exhausting. Then again, this doesn’t seem like a slow, gentle fuck; he’s fine with the exhaustion so long as Kuroo doesn’t literally kick him out of bed.

“Roll over.” He hardly says it before flipping Kenma onto his stomach himself. He doesn’t know when Kuroo grabbed the belt again, but he feels the cool fabric against his wrists, and his arms are pressed into the small of his back. Kenma doesn’t squirm—though he wants to, just for the feel of Kuroo pushing him around again, making him stay still.

Once he’s tied, Kuroo flips him again, so his arms are pinned beneath him, bent at the elbows. Kenma only wiggles enough to make sure he’s comfortable, but even that thought is thrown out the window when Kuroo swallows him down without preamble. There’s no teasing now, no little licks or gentle swirls of his tongue—only hard suction and taking Kenma as deep as he can. Kenma shouts and his hips buck, unable to stop himself. And Kuroo _lets_ him.

When he’d said that earlier, Kenma hadn’t thought he’d meant he wanted him to come _immediately_. But Kuroo is the impatient one now, and Kenma is along for the ride.

Nails dig into his ass as Kuroo helps guide Kenma into a rhythm. Kenma can hardly bite back his sounds, hoping to be able to hear the soft, wet sounds Kuroo makes around him, but it’s no use. Kenma gasps and trembles and thrusts into Kuroo’s mouth. The tension in his body winds tighter and tighter, scarily fast, his voice rising in pitch as he nears climax.

“Kuroo, god—fuck, I-I’m—” Kenma tries to warn him, at least, but he chokes on a sob as Kuroo pulls off completely.

Kuroo grins up at him as Kenma’s hips thrust up into nothing. The heat low in his belly dissipates, slowly, making his skin tingle with unreleased energy.

“Come on, _please_ ,” Kenma begs without shame.

“You can do better than that.”

“And so can you.”

Kuroo wraps those beautifully long fingers around him, and gives him a few slow pulls. Kenma’s breath catches, then cracks on a whine. His grip is perfectly tight, but his rhythm is tortuously slow, and Kenma’s chest heaves with growing frustration barely tempered by arousal. He _loves_ how skillfully Kuroo plays him, even as near-strangers, even as an impulsive lay.

This is definitely someone Kenma wants to see again.

And he hasn’t even come yet.

“Kenma,” Kuroo says, voice a near _growl_ , “Kenma, look at me.”

Kenma cracks open an eye and pulls his face from the pillows.

“Show me that pretty face of yours when you come,” he says. He speeds up his rhythm, lowering his mouth again to lap at the sensitive spot beneath the head of Kenma’s cock, eyes locked onto Kenma’s.

His orgasm builds just as quickly as before, and just as his hips stutter out of tempo with Kuroo’s hand, Kuroo pulls his mouth away. Kenma spills over his stomach, and Kuroo strokes him through it, grin slicing across his face as he finally breaks eye contact.

Kenma has hardly relaxed back down onto the mattress before Kuroo _nuzzles_ his face into the mess on Kenma’s skin.

Kuroo licks at the sweat and come and trails his fingers through it, rubbing it into Kenma’s stomach, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fuck,” Kuroo rumbles, voice so low Kenma isn’t sure he heard it at all. “ _Fuck_ , you smell—you taste _amazing_.” Kuroo groans against him, pornographic, and Kenma only _then_ feels his face heat up.

He’s torn between looking away from the scene Kuroo presents and trying to memorize it for every single future masturbatory fantasy in his life.

Kuroo shifts further up on the bed, dragging his tongue up Kenma’s sternum, fingers still drawing circles in the mess below. It takes Kenma a few bleary moments before he realizes that the movements of Kuroo’s hips means he’s rutting against the bed, and desperately, based on the way he presses his face against Kenma’s chest to muffle his moans.

“Let me help,” Kenma says, wriggling beneath him. His hands are still tied, and he’ll probably have to move before his arms fall asleep, but he opens his mouth in a way he hopes makes his point.

Kuroo huffs out a laugh against his skin, then follows it with a teasing scrape of his teeth that makes Kenma shiver. “Oh, trust me, kitten, we’re not done here quite yet.”

Kenma whines when he pulls away, up onto his knees, though at least he doesn’t make a show of stripping off his pants. Kenma has the sense of self to raise an eyebrow at the lack of underwear, even if the sight of Kuroo’s cock bobbing free is rather arousing in itself, but any sass he has about going commando dies on his lips when he sees the glint of the studs.

He has a fucking Prince Albert.

On one hand, Kenma is glad Kuroo hadn’t brought this up as some sort of come-on or selling point earlier. On the other, a little warning would’ve been nice before his soul departs his body entirely.

Despite having just come, Kenma _knows_ there’s no way he’s _not_ getting hard again.

“ _There’s_ a good reaction,” Kuroo says fondly, proudly. He juts his hips forward, one hand adjusting his dick so he can better show off the piercing. “I take it you like?”

Kenma isn’t certain how he goes from flippant to growly sex god and back again so quickly, but he wants the other back. He lolls his tongue out of his mouth, jaws open wide, and makes a needy noise in the back of his throat. _Gimme_.

“Sorry, not tonight,” Kuroo says and leans down to press a teasing peck against Kenma’s tongue. He scrunches his nose in distaste. “Is it okay if I finger you, or do you need another couple minutes? Because I can sit here and look pretty and bask in that dazed look in your eyes a bit longer, that’s cool.”

“With how many times you’ve called me impatient, I thought you’d know the answer,” Kenma retorts. It takes a bit of undignified wiggling, but he rolls over onto his stomach, wincing only slightly at the press of the comforter against the half-tacky mess on his stomach. “Hop to it,” he dryly adds.

“I can’t wait until you are so strung out you lose the mouthiness,” Kuroo informs him. He drags Kenma over to the center of the bed and kneels behind his spread legs. Kenma shudders at the friction on his sensitive dick, but Kuroo smooths his hands down over the backs of his thighs, like an apology. Kenma doesn’t need an apology, he needs lube.

Kenma continues to wiggle through the _click_ of the cap and more of Kuroo kneading his thigh. That big hand slides up until he grabs one of Kenma’s cheeks and spreads him. Kenma shivers at the first press of his finger against him. The lube has been warmed, at least, but Kuroo’s touches are light, teasing. Frustrating.

“Are you gonna— _oh_.” Kenma’s voice edges high at the end, to his embarrassment, and he has the sneaking suspicion that Kuroo waited until he was talking to slip his finger in. His touches are still slow and nearly gentle in nature, but not quite so teasing now. “It’s cheating if you’re waiting until I talk to— _ah_ —I thought you were going to make me scream on your _own_.” The last bit comes out as one big rush.

“Who says I won’t?” Kuroo asks. Kenma can hear his smile. “But I like the little sounds, too. Feel free not to muffle yourself.”

Kenma makes a show of both burying his face in the bedspread and arching his spine to press back a little more firmly against Kuroo’s hand.

For all of his talk, Kuroo is patient now. He’s certainly taking his time, and Kenma eventually has to come up for air, so Kuroo ends up winning an array of little pants and shudders. He occasionally leans down to nip at Kenma’s ass or thigh, making Kenma twitch and clench around his fingers, and he always makes a pleased sound after that.

Worse (better) is all of the little praises that keep dropping from his lips. He’s so quiet Kenma almost thinks he’s not supposed to be heard—some kind of habit, or maybe he’s overestimating how much Kenma can hear over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

“So good,” Kuroo murmurs against the dip in his back. Kenma feels the way his mouth moves against his skin. Kuroo places a kiss against his bound wrist, then his palm, and Kenma halfheartedly tries to swat at him, only to be interrupted by an insistent prod against his prostate. He sucks in a gasp and releases it in another whine. “You going to keep making those nice noises for me now?”

“F-Fuck you,” Kenma bites out, voice cracking in the middle. After three fingers, Kuroo has moved on from strictly stretching to _torturing_ him. Tears sting at his eyes and he wants to bury his face in the bedspread, but Kuroo gives him a warning yank on the makeshift handcuffs every time he makes to.

He’s not regretting the overstimulation just yet, but it’s nearing the edge of Too Much. Kenma wants that edge, _loves_ the fucking vertigo of giving himself away like this, and he wants to trust Kuroo to walk that line with him. He wants to be wrecked. But he needs to trust his own limits, too, and it’s been so long since he’s been with anyone he trusted that much.

He’s accustomed to sex with strangers, even with people he’s seen multiple times. But Kenma is not accustomed to letting go.

And, like he’s reading Kenma’s mind, just as _yellow_ had been on the tip of his tongue, Kuroo relents.

Kenma sags against the mattress with a sigh and a shudder. He hadn’t been aware just how bad he’d been arching until his muscles have the chance to relax, and Kuroo runs his free hand up the length of his back until he’s pressing soft kisses against Kenma’s shoulder blades, back of his neck, hair. “Doin’ alright? Color?”

Kenma smiles. He hopes he hides it. “Green,” he is happy to report. “You’re good at this.”

“Maybe you’re just easy to please,” Kuroo repeats back, sounding far too smug. But Kenma will let it slide right now. Kuroo noses at his thick hair, pushing it away until he can reach Kenma’s ear, and he begins moving his fingers again in a slow, gentle glide. He nips at the shell of Kenma’s ear, then whispers, “You’re good at this, too.”

“At what?” Kenma asks.

“Being too damn hot. I like how responsive you are. Good dogs need lots of praise back, y’know?”

“Don’t call yourself that when we’re about to fuck,” Kenma snaps without real heat, irritated as he is. Kuroo pulls his fingers free with a snicker.

“I thought you liked all that talk about beasts and howling at the moon.”

“Maybe I like it better when you’re _not_ talking now.”

“How are your arms?” Kuroo asks, wisely changing tack.

“Still fine. I said green, didn’t I? That means for everything.” Kenma punctuates this with an impatient jut of his hips. “Still. No. Screaming.”

“You’re going to make me really take that as a personal challenge, you know,” Kuroo drawls. Kenma hears the foil ripping from the condom, and tries to flip over, but Kuroo is straddling his thighs. He makes a questioning sound.

“I’ll sound better if you let me blow you first,” Kenma offers, _again_.

“I like how much you believe in my stamina. Next time, okay? Let me just imagine there will be a next time I get to see this fantastic little ass.” Kuroo gives him a swat, too, a little too light for Kenma’s liking. But, well, _next time_ , huh.

Kenma had already been thinking along the same wavelength, but he doesn’t think now is a good time to plan out their social (bedroom?) lives together. “Doesn’t mean I’ll let you slack off in this one. C’mon.”

“Still can’t wait for that mouthiness to be put to better use,” Kuroo mutters, and Kenma can hear the stupid smile in his voice. He taps Kenma’s ass again. “Up. Onto your knees. You’re smart enough to know how to submit properly, right?”

The words send a tingle up his spine, but he vows to kick Kuroo out of bed if he starts literally alpha male posturing. Kuroo doesn’t help him at all and it takes a stupid amount of wiggling before Kenma gets up onto his knees, legs spread, cock hanging heavy and dripping unapologetically onto the messy bedspread. Kenma shifts a little more, shoulders bearing more of his weight now instead of his neck, and manages to catch a glimpse of Kuroo behind him through the mess of his hair.

He looks good—what a shock. He’s not looking at Kenma right now, instead rolling the condom on and slicking himself, glancing over a few times to Kenma’s ass. Kenma clenches his fists, pulling against the belt, just to have something to do while he waits. Kuroo looks as impatient as he feels, but his movements are all slow, purposeful. Kenma worries about further teasing.

But Kuroo is not unkind. Kenma quickly hides his face again as Kuroo grins down at him; they lock eyes for just a moment. “Shy now?” Kuroo asks, horribly earnest.

“You’re too much,” Kenma huffs.

“Hopefully not _too_ much,” Kuroo replies as he smooths his hand down Kenma’s side, until he’s gripping his hip. “Ready?”

“Again, you’ve been calling _me_ the impatient one,” Kenma says, sighs.

“Aren’t you, though?”

“I definitely am if you don’t _get in me_ already.”

Kuroo chuckles, and his grip tightens momentarily. Kenma is immensely thankful that, instead of some responding quip, Kuroo presses against him. That is enough to take Kenma’s breath away, but the first push inside has both of them groaning. Kuroo takes it slow, achingly slow, slow enough to have Kenma keening. He can hardly move, but he pushes back against Kuroo as much as he can, nails digging into his palms as he writhes and chases that full feeling.

By the time Kuroo bottoms out, he’s folded himself over Kenma. His breath puffs out hot against the shell of Kenma’s ear. “You feel so fucking good,” he whispers with a pair of kisses on Kenma’s hair. “You doing alright?”

“Give me a moment,” Kenma pants. He adjusts to the feeling of Kuroo inside him, the weight and the heat and the _size_ , and the solid body atop him. He can hardly catch his breath. Everything about Kuroo has been perfectly overwhelming all evening, but nothing could prepare Kenma for this at last.

Kenma finally sucks in a deep breath. Kuroo runs a hand up the side of his ribcage like he’s trying to feel it himself.

“ _Move_ ,” Kenma orders. The word’s hardly out of his mouth before Kuroo follows, and first slick drag has them both gasping all over again.

Kuroo moves slowly, methodically, with purpose. Kenma had been hoping to be able to feel that piercing, and he is not disappointed. Each thrust rubs it against him, pushes the air from his lungs, presses him further against the mattress. It feels like unfairly soon before Kuroo finds the perfect angle—but Kenma can’t really complain, now can he. Not when his toes curl and Kuroo laughs smug and cocky against his ear.

Kenma likes the sound more than he should, considering how infuriating it is.

“H- _Harder_ ,” he says, just to be a brat.

And Kuroo acquiesces. He spreads Kenma’s legs further with a nudge of his knee. Kenma whines against the pillows with the shifting of their bodies and the change in angle, until Kuroo has him exactly where he wants him. Noises spill from Kenma’s lips and judging on how much Kuroo seems to like them, Kenma doesn’t try to quiet himself.

Kuroo runs his free hand through Kenma’s hair, tugging lightly, and Kenma’s breath hitches in a way he’s _sure_ gives himself away. But Kuroo just moves his hair out of the way in order to fasten his mouth against the bared skin of Kenma’s neck. It only pretends to be a kiss for a mere moment, then he _bites_.

Kenma jolts and shouts, and Kuroo growls against his neck in the most delicious fashion. He only releases him momentarily, sharp teeth scraping his skin, before his tongue laves against the spot— _laps_ at it. Kenma feels the warmth of blood smear across his skin and it’s almost more intense than the force with which Kuroo takes him.

“God, Kuroo—d-do that— _again_ , harder, _please_!” Kenma hardly thinks he’s coherent, maybe not even understandable, but maybe Kuroo continues to be on the same wavelength.

With a low curse right in his ear, Kuroo swipes more of Kenma’s hair out of the way. He places a quick kiss against his cheek before dragging his tongue down his jaw, then sinking his teeth into a spot just higher than the earlier one.

Kenma tries to give him as much room as he needs, though it’s difficult, with Kuroo’s weight pinning him to the bed and Kuroo fucking his brains out. Higher thought is difficult, but Kenma can very happily live a life of _more_ and _harder_ right now. Maybe forever. Despite the heat winding tense in the base of his belly, he wants this to continue until he’s even more of a puddle at Kuroo’s hands.

Kenma’s face ends up pressed against the mattress, hair even more of a mess as Kuroo noses and nips at the opposite side of his neck. The headboard bangs against the wall on every other thrust, but it’s not as if it’s any louder than Kenma has been. Kuroo certainly doesn’t seem to mind; he’s fucking _reveling_ in every helpless and keening noise Kenma makes.

“You close?” Kuroo pants against his skin, nearly lost if not for how close he is. Kenma nods—he is, he’s close enough to want Kuroo to push him over that edge again—but he _needs_ stimulation on his cock. Tension is making his body go taut, waiting, and he can feel every thrust of Kuroo deep inside him. Kenma even thinks he can still feel that piercing rubbing against his prostate.

“Please—” Kenma cuts off with a high gasp as Kuroo bites him again. His teeth saw into the delicate skin of his neck and Kenma pushes back against his hips despite the iron grip of Kuroo’s other hand on him. Every prick of pain just takes him higher, closer to the edge, but he needs to fucking come already. His body doesn’t seem to care at all that he’s already come once; every fiber of him _demands_ release. “ _Please_ ,” Kenma tries again in little more than a dry sob. His voice is hoarse and Kuroo’s growls in his ear have gone raspy.

Kuroo pushes more of Kenma’s hair out of the way, bites down on the back of his neck, then reaches down beneath Kenma to grasp his arousal at last.

Kenma isn’t sure if it’s the teeth in his nape or the fingers around his cock but all he knows is that he’s suddenly _there_.

It takes three more snaps of Kuroo’s hips—Kenma’s body gone taut, toes curled and nails digging into his palms and spine arched—before Kenma’s coming again. He knows he’s making some kind of sound, but he can’t for the life of him hear himself over the blood rushing in his head and Kuroo’s deep voice praising him through it.

Kuroo had been closer than he’d thought, apparently, or else he’s done; he pulls out of Kenma before he can catch his breath, flips Kenma onto his back (he cooperates like a limp noodle since his body is still trembling from aftershocks and he thinks his brain has definitely oozed out his ears) and sits back on his haunches beside his hip.

Kuroo has a tiny smear of blood near the corner of his mouth, his hair is an unfairly wild shade of sexy, and he makes eye contact with Kenma as he licks Kenma’s come off his fingers.

He fucking _moans_ as he does it.

Kenma lets out a pitiful, needy sound. He’s exhausted, covered in sweat and who knows what else, but Kuroo is going to kill him. Clearly. Maybe it wasn’t the vampires he needed to worry about, after all.

Kuroo laps up the come on each of his fingers, putting on a show, but clearly enjoying himself. Kenma doesn’t even notice that he’s still hard until his other hand reaches down to strip off the condom. Kenma wiggles, arms going numb beneath him, and despite his dry throat, his mouth waters at the sight of that piercing again.

“Next time, maybe you can let me fuck your mouth,” Kuroo says with half a grin. He jacks himself while sucking the rest of the mess off his fingers.

The _next time_ sticks in Kenma’s mind, however. A little seed of hope.

“You taste so good,” Kuroo says, again, little more than a husky murmur. His eyes are lidded but his gaze remains a heavy weight on Kenma. Kuroo drops his attention from Kenma’s face just to drag down his heaving chest, the smear of come his hand hadn't caught, the casual spread of Kenma's legs. “And what a sight.”

As if he's completely unaware of how he looks too. “You're one to talk,” Kenma replies, probably because he's still addled by his orgasm.

Hand deemed clean enough, Kuroo puts his weight on it, and leans back down to kiss him. Kenma tastes himself on Kuroo’s tongue but the heat from him looming over again is what sends his senses back into overdrive. Kenma’s body thrums and he eagerly kisses Kuroo back, tangling tongues and biting at his lips, but the heaviness in his limbs isn’t to be ignored, either. He wants the pleasure to continue. He’s just not sure he’s up for it.

Kuroo spills hot over Kenma’s stomach and softened cock, making Kenma jump at the sensation. Kuroo groans against his mouth and part of the sound may have been meant to be Kenma’s name.

Kuroo is polite enough to not completely flop down on top of him, but he is also rude enough to remain low over Kenma until he catches his breath. Kenma squirms, his arms tingling, and asks, “Kuroo, my hands?”

Kuroo raises his head enough to give him a long, perplexed blink. Then, realization hits. “Ah, shit, sorry!” He’s perhaps a little rougher than strictly necessary to roll Kenma onto his side (Kenma _could_ have managed that much himself) and pull the belt from his wrists. Kenma gratefully rolls his shoulders forward and brings his arms up, sighing happily—then making a confused chirp as Kuroo takes his hands in his.

Despite everything they just did, he feels a strange bolt of affection as Kuroo massages his wrists and presses little kisses against his skin.

“You sore?”

Kenma glances off to the side and carefully pulls his hands free again. “I’m fine, it didn’t hurt. I’m thirsty, though.” His voice sounds pretty damn wrecked, too. He can only imagine what his neck looks like, and he can’t wait to look in a mirror.

Kuroo rolls off the bed and pads completely naked out of the bedroom; Kenma lazily spread-eagles over the entire bed and examines the state of things. One: Kuroo didn’t do the whole licking and moaning thing with his _own_ come, leaving Kenma with the mess on his stomach. Two: Kuroo’s room was both neater and messier than Kenma would expect of a werewolf. Three: He didn’t think he was going to be able to leave this bed for a solid ten hours.

Kenma is working on number six of his list (he wonders if he’ll ruin his chances of a true next time if he tries to push for morning sex before he does his walk of shame) when Kuroo comes back with a bottle of water. He’s beaming, perfectly happy with himself, and apparently feels no shame in leaning down to kiss Kenma’s unruly hair before passing over the water.

Kenma sips, eyeing Kuroo out of the corner of his eye. His mind is still half-gooey and his toes are still a little numb, but the come cooling on his stomach is getting harder to ignore. They’re both sweaty and wild-haired, and Kuroo is wearing an inappropriately dopey smile.

“Thought you had a kink,” Kenma says around the lip of the bottle. His voice is still a touch hoarse. Kuroo cocks an eyebrow, and Kenma gestures vaguely to the mess. “You were _so_ eager to lap it up earlier…” he adds, now embarrassed for even pointing it out. “Don’t like your own?”

“Well, no, I can’t really compare to you.”

“Is that so.”

“You’re one to talk about kinks, hm?” Kuroo shoots back and gestures to his neck. Kenma runs his fingers over his, and feels a little bit of scratchy dried blood. He sighs, licks his finger, and blindly feels around until he hopes he wipes most of it off. “Ah, wow, hygienic. It’s not that bad… Want a bandage or something?”

“Mm, it’s fine.” Kenma just feels an ache there—okay, in a lot of places—but he can’t say he minds. “Washcloth?”

“Too far.” Kuroo snags his shirt from off the floor with half a smirk. Kenma rolls his eyes. “Ah, but seriously! Give me the bottle, I’ll clean you up to your high standards. I just don’t want to leave this bed again for awhile.”

Before Kenma can protest (maybe he doesn’t really want to, because Kuroo is a warm weight beside him), Kuroo plucks the water from his grasp, holds it over his shirt, and wets it with a proud little smile. A bit too much ends up spilling over the edge and over his leg, but he doesn’t seem bothered, and rubs Kenma’s stomach down like he’s trying to clean a dog.

Kenma squirms and whines and even kicks when he gets a little too rough with his oversensitive dick, but Kuroo just jokingly apologizes and kisses him again. At some point, the cleanup gets forgotten, as Kuroo gets carried away with more and more little pecks and smooches. Kenma isn’t sure where the sexy werewolf went and when he got saddled with the affectionate puppy, but…

He’s not exactly upset.

He chalks it up to the fact that Kuroo is attractive enough to get away with murder, and surely the happy orgasm drugs in his brain are addling his judgement further. Kenma doesn’t do the afterglow stuff. He likes cuddling, and he’ll gladly share a bed, but he isn’t quite prepared for the large, nuzzling man to settle _on top of him_ and refuse to let him move away.

“You’re squishing me.”

“You liked me on top of you a few minutes ago.”

“I could still _breathe_ ,” Kenma points out. He wriggles, and Kuroo holds him tighter, but shifts around so Kenma ends up on top. Still encompassed in his arms, and one leg thrown up over Kenma’s legs for good measure. What an octopus. “Are you like this with all the guys you screw?”

“Just the especially cute ones. Sorry, but werewolves like the after-cuddles. Problem?”

“…No,” Kenma sighs.

Kuroo laughs and squeezes him again. Asshole.

“Your neck looks like you got mauled.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Mm, I don’t want you to get in trouble at work or anything. You seemed to _like_ it at the time, though,” Kuroo happily points out and noses Kenma’s hair out of the way again to delicately nibble at his ear. Kenma can’t help but shiver.

“I like being bitten.”

“Why not go home with a vampire?”

Kenma shivers again, and not at all pleasantly this time. “It’s too much of a temptation. I don’t really have a good track record with them. If all werewolves are as… much as you, then maybe I’ll aim for furrier targets.”

“I’m _not_ that furry,” Kuroo complains. “Wrong time of the month…”

“You _do_ get furrier?”

“Full moons aren’t a joke, y’know.”

“You turn into a monster?”

“I turn into a _wolf_ ,” he corrects, but he doesn’t sound particularly annoyed. A little resigned. Kenma shifts, and Kuroo allows it this time, so they end up chest-to-chest and Kenma can rest his chin on Kuroo’s sternum. Kuroo smiles down at him, but it’s a little more strained. “But during the day before and after, I can do the furry ears and tail thing if you’re into that kinda thing.”

“Never tried it,” Kenma dryly replies. “Are _you_ into fucking people when you look like a dog?”

“I’m going to take a picture in two weeks and send it to you! I _don’t_ look like a dog!”

“You’d have to have my number.”

“…Yeah, I guess so,” Kuroo says. Kenma averts his eyes, but at least Kuroo doesn’t outright ask. He rolls, just a little, one arm still wrapped around Kenma’s waist, and flails until he can come up with someone’s phone.

 _I didn’t think about checking my phone the entire time I was here_ , Kenma thinks. Not _that_ rare, but something to consider. He’s gone home with some pretty boring people before.

“It’s almost three,” Kuroo groans. “You’re _definitely_ staying over.”

“Only if I can get a proper introduction to that piercing of yours in the morning,” Kenma says, as if he had any other plans.

“Mm, I _like_ you. I’ll keep you around for the full night, just so long as you don’t kick in your sleep.”

Kenma doesn’t kick, but he does stick his cold feet on Kuroo’s warmer ones. Neither bother getting dressed again, and Kuroo only tugs up a sheet to cover them as he makes sure there’s as much skin contact as possible. A little suffocating, but in an endearing way, so Kenma doesn’t immediately scoot away.

Kuroo kisses one of the marks on Kenma’s neck as they drift off.

 _Too intimate_ , Kenma notes.

 

—

 

“Did you get mauled by a bear?” Shouyou asks, grinning ear to ear, even as he tries to hide it behind a coy hand.

Kenma wordlessly slides a bill across the bartop.

“Ehh— _really_?!” Shouyou flutters up over the bar in his excitement, glowing in the dim light, unable to help himself.

“I guessed it, but it was… after we left. So you win the bet,” Kenma replies. He doesn’t want to drink tonight, doesn’t even want to stay that long. He honestly mostly just wanted to see Shouyou. It’s still early, at least, but he doesn’t think he’ll stay much longer.

“He must’ve distracted you!”

“I guess, but you still won.”

“Was it good, then?” Shouyou asks slyly. He _plops_ back to the ground and leans his chin in his hands, eyes lidded and mouth still curled into a sharp smirk.

“I gave him my number,” Kenma replies. Noncommittally. Giving out his number isn’t a big deal, after all, but Shouyou beams at him like he’d just announced an engagement.

“Maybe you can invite him back to your place!”

“Maybe not. But… I’d like to see him again,” Kenma admits, unable to help his own smile.

“What did he end up being? Something that bites, obviously. Oh wait—not a vampire, right?!”

“No, I told you, not anymore.”

“Oh, well then—”

“What the _fuck_ is this?!”

Both of them turn to find Kentarou stomping their way to them, livid and practically putting off steam. Kenma had assumed he’d only just gotten on shift, so he’s surprised that someone had _already_ managed to piss him off so bad. But to his surprise—and to Shouyou’s squawk of alarm—Kentarou hauls _Kenma_ up off his stool by his upper arm. “Wh-What?”

“You reek of dog,” Kentarou snaps, and shoves Kenma’s hair out of the way to expose his bruised neck. “And this is a fucking _mate mark_. What have you been doing?!”

“I’ve been doing a werewolf. Why does this matter?”

“One that claimed you. Do you know what that means?”

“No, we don’t!” Shouyou exclaims, folded across the bar to try to pry them apart. Kentarou finally releases him and Kenma glares at the wall of colorful bottles behind his friend. “What’s gotten you so mad, Kyoutani? Even _you’re_ usually nicer to Kenma!”

Kenma’s phone vibrates against his thigh in his pants pocket. The timing of it feels strangely ominous. Shouyou continues to berate Kentarou over something that only gets him looking more and more like a kicked dog, and Kenma pulls his phone out to check.

It’s Kuroo, which is _definitely_ fucking ominous. Kenma really doesn’t want to deal with any kind of supernatural drama right now (or at all, honestly), so he mutes the call.

“Look, I still know him well enough to know that he don’t like strangers fucking _marking_ him,” Kentarou is saying.

“I’d say he does,” Shouyou flatly replies.

“Not like that,” Kenma sighs, “Shouyou, it’s fine. Kentarou, tell me why you’re mad at me.”

“For being stupid enough to let a random-ass werewolf mark you!”

“What we get up to in the bedroom is not really—”

Kentarou, not the most articulate on a good day and not exactly the most patient either, irritably pulls out his own phone, types something in, and shoves it in their faces. He stalks off again without another word, but surlier than ever. Hopefully no one else gets on his bad side tonight.

Kenma doesn’t really like the google page he’d pulled up, however.

“What’s it say?” Shouyou leans over his shoulder to read. Kenma’s phone goes off again in his pocket. Shouyou lets out a noise, a long one that grows in volume the further down he reads, right in Kenma’s ear. It feels like an appropriate soundtrack.

Kenma finally pulls out his phone to answer the call.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know, I thought I just _really wanted_ to bite you!” are the first words out of Kuroo’s mouth. At least they’re on the same wavelength now. Just like last night, Kenma had thought.

He hadn’t wanted supernatural drama. He _had_ wanted to see Kuroo again, and maybe again and again. These thoughts war within him, and come out in a weary sigh. “Did you,” Kenma says evenly, “accidentally marry me?”

“If it’s any consolation,” Kuroo says, sounding _damn_ contrite, as he fucking should, “it also means I’m not going to really be able get off with anyone else until we get this sorted out. You’re going to have the best case of revenge blue balls in the history of history. So that can be step one of my apology to you.”

Shouyou, nose nearly touching the screen of Kentarou’s phone, lets out his loudest noise yet. “You’re safe from turning into a werewolf yourself!”

(Kenma had already read that far. It’s the main reason why he’s not trying to shove a silver spoon up Kuroo’s nose right now.)

“I’m really sorry,” Kuroo says again. “I’ll figure this out, I promise you. You don’t really have to see me, not until I figure something out, but please don’t delete my number, in case I need help with something—”

“I wanted an excuse to see you again, but nothing like this,” Kenma replies honestly. Kuroo makes a wounded noise. Kenma thinks _he_ should be the one making that noise, but he’s oddly calm about this. He feels kind of… detached. It’s not like he cares much for werewolf customs or whatever, even if Kentarou and any other wolfy bar patrons may give him weird looks for the foreseeable future.

Maybe it’s a defense mechanism.

 _One great night wasn’t worth this_ , Kenma thinks. _But there are worse people to get saddled with… maybe?_

“You don’t even have to see me again, unless there’s some weird ceremony on the new moon or something to break this. I will never bite you again, I _swear_.”

“That was my favorite part,” Kenma petulantly mutters. Shouyou peers up at him over the edge of the phone. “It was an accident, right? You swear?”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Kuroo is too earnest for Kenma to doubt him.

“Okay, I believe you.”

“Great! I mean… thanks. Really. I’m still _really_ sorry—”

“Stop apologizing. One of the bouncers at the bar will probably kick your ass if you ever show up here again, so that’s punishment enough.”

“And the getting off thing.”

“I _said_ I wanted to see you again, so unless you’re an asshole, I’m free on Thursday. Buy me dinner.”

Shouyou’s gaze is drilling holes into the side of his head. Kenma’s probably going to have to avoid the bar for awhile, too, which is a true pity considering it houses his sole friend left here. His sole friend who is going to be _insufferable_ because of this. Probably more aggravating than Kuroo’s apologies.

“You’re going to see the guy again, huh,” Shouyou says as Kenma gives Kuroo quick goodbyes. Kenma doesn’t respond. “Last night was _that good_ , huuuuh?”

“It wasn’t just the sex. He was… kind. In a weird way.”

“Have you seen the symptoms of this for humans?!” Shouyou shoves the phone in his face, nearly hitting his nose, and Kenma scans over the new page pulled up.

“These aren’t symptoms, Shouyou. This is a list of common fetishes that people turn to werewolves for.”

“Well, to be fair—”

“ _No_ , Shouyou.”

“But you’re stuck with a single guy until you figure out some way to divorce his furry ass! I’m not sure why you’re not headed for the hills yet! You don’t invite guys home with _you_ , you stay away from vampires, you try not to see the same person twice, and now you end up basically _married_ to some guy and you just want dinner from him!”

“You can buy me dinner, too, if you want,” Kenma informs him. “I like free food.”

“I can’t believe the first bet I ever won with you is gonna be the last. No one will come close to you if you smell like werewolf dick all the time.”

“I _do not_.”

“Wanna bet?” Shouyou asks. There’s a familiar glimmer in his eye, even if the despondent slump remains in his shoulders.

“…Bet what?” Kenma asks, interest piqued.

“Whether or not patrons can guess you’re married to a werewolf.”

Looks like there was going to be a new bar game until this got sorted out.

Kenma smiles, just a little, and Shouyou grins back at him, full of sharp teeth.

Kenma could bear with this, a bit longer. Probably. Anything in the name of free drinks, after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [kozume kenma's guide to getting free drinks from supernatural persons (results may vary) [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051689) by [Opalsong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalsong/pseuds/Opalsong)




End file.
